


By Your Own Shield-Straps

by Nyxelestia



Series: Watch Your Pack [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But he's trying, Child Neglect, Chronic Illness, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, Derek is Derek, Discussions of Chronic Illness, Gen, Isaac Lahey's Past Abuse, Just not enough to tag as another fandom, MCU Crossver, Military Families, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: "Hunters, kanimas, the pain — it all sucks, but they're worth it. That's why I'm here. I'm not obeying Derek because I have to — I'm listening to him because I want to."Stiles gets some insight into why Derek's betas are sticking with him, even as the shine of their lycanthropy starts to wear off.Three-Shot of Erica, Isaac, and Boyd's POVs fromTalking Cure.





	1. Erica Reyes - So You Wanna Be Captain America

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is Erica's POV of [the beginning of Chapter 11 of Talking Cure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482827/chapters/32478366).

In the shadowed evening, after the sunset plunged the world into darkness but before the moon lit it back up again, Erica crept between backyards, coming to a halt outside her target.

She stood just beyond the Stilinskis' small yard for a short while, waiting until the Sheriff walked out of that room with the window into the yard. As soon as he was gone, she slunk inward, keeping her her shiny blonde head down in the darkness. She leveraged herself on top of the little patio overhang, grinning at how easy it was with her new strength, and moved on all fours to the wall. She slowly stood up by the closed window and peeked over the ledge into Stiles' room-

Then dropped back down again, eyes wide.

Okay, she should've expected that. Jerking off without having to hide under the covers was a thing teenagers who were allowed to lock their doors could do.

She assumed, anyway.

As she got over the sheer unexpectedness of it, a slow smile started to creep over her face as she waited.

It wasn't long, thank god. She had to crane her ear to hear him past all the other ambient noise of the neighborhood; super-senses were only as useful as your own ability to concentrate on or through them. But, after an impressively long while, there was a long, low sigh, then the sound of Stiles pulling up his pants and then wandering into the bathroom. He washed his hands and threw away his tissues in there. She wondered if he'd always done that, or if he only started after his best friend became a werewolf.

She waited. She waited until Stiles went downstairs and came back up with a laundry basket, waited until Stiles started folding, waited until he seemed relaxed and sinking into his routine.

Then she reached up and knocked on the window.

Stiles' yelp, the thud of him flailing off the bed, and his sky-rocketing heartbeat all had her grinning as she stood and turned to face the window again. The boy was literally clutching his chest as he blinked at her. He took a few more deep breaths before rolling his eyes to the ceiling like he was asking it for help.

"Goddamn werewolves who can't use the front door," he grumbled, voice muffled through the closed window. She realized that after the shock of her sudden appearance, he wasn't all that surprised. Well — from the sounds of it, someone else had come crawling through his window before. Scott? Though there was that weird conversation between Derek and Stiles at the pool…

Stiles huffed as he pushed himself up off his floor, but then got a wary look on his face as he approached his window, undid the clasps, and opened it up.

"Hi, Stiles," Erica greeted, leaning inwards. "Come here often?"

"Erica," he greeted flatly, giving her a nervous, yet appraising, look. Fidgeting and narrowing his eyes at her, not letting her into his room yet, he asked, “Uh, how long were you out there?”

She didn’t answer, instead leering while pushing him back so she could actually come into his room.

“Don’t worry,” she said, making a show of considering the box of tissues sitting on his desk, and the laptop it was next to. “I won’t tell anyone what your funny sex face looks like.”

She grinned at his spluttering. "I don't have a funny sex face!" Stiles protested.

"Fine, fine, your funny O-face," Erica said, rolling her eyes. "If you're going to be semantic."

Stiles pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes as she turned on the spot, taking in his room. It looked like his brain had barfed all over the walls, with pictures, news clippings, and other print-outs pinned up everywhere. The room was covered over in shallow nerdery and what grown-ups thought leet-speak looked like. At a glance, the whole mess looked like a plan for a fantasy novel. She spotted a box for World of Warcraft, and realized how Stiles could have this up on his walls without his dad getting too suspicious.

"It's not being semantic, it's being accurate," Stiles snapped. "Also, me trying to point out you were spying on me during a very private moment-"

"That's not exactly news to me," she said, looking at him. "Besides, I was just waiting for you to finish." At his incredulous look, she added, "Would you rather I came in while you were in the middle of your 'me' time?"

Stiles glared at her, crossing his arms and standing in front of the laundry on his bed like he was defending it. “What do you want?”

Erica smiled, sitting down in Stiles' chair and tilting her head. "What happened night before last?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, sitting back down on the bed. "Excuse me?"

"You got into some serious trouble with the police," she said. "Something serious enough that your dad couldn't get you out of it. What was it?"

Stiles scowled. "What makes you think it has anything to do with you guys?"

"You are at least as caught up in this mess as we are — if not more, since you seem to know who the kanima is." She crossed her arms to match Stiles, causing him to drop his hands into his lap. "So Derek sent me to figure it out. One way or another, I'm leaving here with new information."

This time, Stiles snorted, turning back to the laundry he was folding.

"How did you even get here from Derek's lair?" Stiles asked. "Is he waiting outside in his car? Because I've gotta say, a Camaro is kind of noticeable around these parts."

Erica rolled her eyes. "I ran here, dumbass."

"All the way?" Stiles asked, surprised. "But that's halfway across town!"

"Werewolf, remember?" she said, flashing her eyes for emphasis. "Besides, I used to do track, so it's not as if running a lot is completely new to me."

"Used to?"

Erica gave him a long considering look. She didn't want to get distracted…

…but maybe she could get Stiles distracted, and he'd let something slip.

She leaned back in her chair and started inspecting her nails in that faux-disinterested way all the badasses in the movies seemed to do.

Not that she'd ever admit to anyone where her inspirations came from.

"I managed to get my parents to let me join the track team in freshman year after spending most of middle school begging," she said, trying to mimic Derek's gentle storytelling voice. Minus the perpetual grumpiness, anyway. "Swimming carried too much risk of drowning if I had a seizure in a pool, and everything else had too much contact for their tastes." She tilted her head, not taking her eyes off of her nails. "And we don't have a tennis team, so running around in a circle, it was."

Clenching her hand into a fist, she still didn't look back up at Stiles, merely tilted her chin up a little. Image, manipulation — she was getting good at all that. "But after a while, they decided a daughter who was both athletic and epileptic was too much hassle. The only reason I was able to even finish the season at all was because I kept sneaking out and got some of the older girls to give me rides. But now they've all graduated, and all the girls left don't want to associate themselves with the chick who pissed herself in class because of a seizure."

She looked up to smile nastily at him, make him feel a fraction of the discomfort she had to live with on a daily basis-

"I'm so sorry."

-and found herself discomfited, instead.

Stiles looked sorry. He looked like he meant it.

"…that's nice," she said finally. Then she flipped her hair, because what the hell else was she supposed to do? "But that doesn't really help me now."

"Why did your parents think it was a hassle?"

Erica started counting off on her finger. "Balancing doctor's visits with track practices-"

"You went to the doctor's that often?"

She snorted. "No."

Stiles frowned in confusion. "Then what-"

"It wasn't the reason, it was the excuse," she said, starting her finger-count again. "So 'balancing so many obligations our time', even after I told them they didn't have to come to my meets — not they did, anyway. The cost of managing my epilepsy and my athletics, because track uniforms are just _sooo_ expensive." She rolled her eyes. "And they wouldn't let me get a job to just pay for the damn things myself. And then, even this highly-supervised, easily accessible, and non-contact sport was too dangerous for 'a young lady of my condition'."

She rolled her eyes again for emphasis, but Stiles didn't seem to notice.

"They didn't come to your meets?" he asked, sounding torn up about it. It would've been adorable if it weren't so weird.

She dropped her hand into her lap, staring at him incredulously.

" _That's_ what you take away from all that?"

Stiles continued to look heartbroken about it.

It was…kind of nice, actually. That someone else cared this much, even moreso for not being pack.

She sighed.

"They came to a few," she said. "Then my dad decided that it was 'just running in circles' and anyway, I wasn't getting medals yet, so he might as well stop taking time away from work. Then it was just my mom, which was okay." She swallowed. "Not everyone's parents showed up all the time, they had lives, but…"

Stiles fiddled with a pair of pants he hadn't folded yet. "But what?"

Erica glanced up at the ceiling, hoping for help on how to explain this.

"I'd never done any sports in my life before high school," she said finally, looking back at Stiles. "But — I was doing good. Really good. My mom came to my semi-finals and I placed fourth."

Stiles' eyes widened. "After one season?" he said, sounding incredulous but not quite disbelieving. "That's great!"

She smiled humorlessly. "Yeah. The coach said that, the team captain said that, and even someone from another team said that. But you know what the first thing my mom said about that meet, when I went to talk to her after?"

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it, waiting for her to continue.

"She said, 'thank god nothing happened'."

Stiles frowned again, deeper this time. "What, like a seizure-"

"Yeah!" Erica snapped. "Because the only thing that mattered was whether or not I had a seizure. Because placing after only one season of training meant 'nothing' to her. Because she didn't even care about what I was doing, only that I didn't collapse while doing it!"

Stiles jerked back, and she realized she'd been leaning forward as she spoke, almost hissing at the end as all her old anger and frustration came back.

She forced herself to relax and lean back again. She isn't the one that’s supposed to be getting riled up, here. She was not the manipulat _ed_ , anymore — now, she was the manipulat _or_.

"It's bad enough when everything else reduces me to my disease," she said. "But for your own parents to do that? For my own mom to see me as her 'epileptic daughter' instead of her 'daughter with epilepsy'…it was like I didn't exist. Only my epilepsy did."

Stiles took a deep breath.

"So that's why the make-over?" he asked, gesturing at her whole body with the pants leg, which now that she thought about it looked like the Sheriff's clothing, not his own. "Your identity was your condition, but that's gone now, so your identity was a blank slate-"

Erica surged forward again, and Stiles flailed back, upsetting a stack of folded clothes.

She heard the spike in his heartbeat in time with the click of his jaws snapping closed. She didn't say a word as his own nervousness shut him up for her.

"To my parents, I'm a burden, and to everyone else, I'm a joke," she said, drawing out her words. Her fangs grew that barest hint as she spoke — not enough to affect her speech, but enough for the tips to be noticeable. "But to my pack, I'm just me. Erica. Now I get to be who I want to be, instead of what everyone else expects me to be."

She leaned back again, the arms of Stiles' chair creaking in her grip as her fangs receded.

“Think of me like…” she paused, fishing for a good analogy. “Captain America.”

For some reason, Stiles’ eyes bugged out at that.

“W-what?”

_Bingo_.

“Think about it,” she said. “Don’t you remember our history class from 5th grade? Steve Rogers was tiny, sick, asthmatic…kinda like Scott, don’t you think?”

That pissed him right off. She didn’t know why, but she was gonna run with it.

“And he went through a highly experimental, never-before-done procedure to become the man we all know him as, today,” she continued. “I mean, honestly, at least werewolf Bites have a history and background of successes to work with, when I took that risk. What did he have? The Red Skull. But he did it anyway!”

She grinned, baring her teeth like they were fangs, and said, “And then he went to war.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at her.

"Hunters, kanimas, the pain — it all sucks, but they're worth it. That's why I'm here. I'm not obeying Derek because I have to — I'm listening to him because I want to."

With a vicious smile, she tilted her head again. "And that's why I'm here, asking what it is you know that we don't."

Stiles blinked in surprised at the mood-whiplash, but then his jaw clenched.

"I'm still not saying a damn thing," Stiles said. "I didn't back down for the last alpha, I didn't back down for the hunters, and I'm sure as hell not backing down for you. And you can tell that to Derek, too."

Erica growled, her burst of anger so sudden it even startled _her_. But it startled Stiles even more, sending him reeling back towards the wall, upsetting a pile of what looked to be the Sheriff's shirts.

He backed away, but he wasn't cowering. Damn. New tactic, then.

"Still not gonna work," Stiles said. "Derek was a lot scarier when he was two steps away from kidnapping me and actively threatening to rip my throat out with his teeth."

"Did you listen to him?" she asked, letting her fangs recede as she tilted her head, waiting for an answer. She wanted to know this story.

Stiles snorted, easing forward to start righting the little piles of clothing.

"Yeah, but because he needed help, not because he scared me," Stiles said. "He'd just been shot by a wolfsbane bullet, and was on the verge of death."

"Huh." She actually leaned back in the seat and crossed one ankle over the other knee — teasing the tantalizing potential glimpse up her skirt. While Stiles' eyes skittered down for a moment, they otherwise remained fixed on her face. "You saved his life," she said, half admiration and half accusation.

Stiles slowly nodded. "Yeah. Few times. And he saved mine. And Scott — look, all I'm saying is that this chaos isn't completely new to us, okay?"

If Erica were being honest with herself, she was a little jealous of that. Even if it was only a few months, in that short time Derek had built up so much history with the other people, these other kids who weren't in the pack and weren't friendly at school and weren't…weren't…

She took a deep breath.

"So I'll have to be smarter about getting information, that's all," she said, as saccharine as she could manage.

Stiles snorted, and his eyes roved up and down her body. She was pretty sure he was trying to unsettle her, so she didn't let it, instead acting as if she didn't even notice.

"Nope," Stiles said, popping the 'p' at the end and turning his attention to…seriously? He folded his dad's underwear? "I wouldn't have said anything even if you seduced me for it. And to be honest, that's what I would figure you'd try."

"Too obvious," Erica dismissed. He was paying way too much attention to the laundry, so at least he wasn't as settled and calm as his outer appearance implied. Then again, she could've gathered as much from his heartbeat. "It doesn't work if you know what I'm doing."

"Just as well," Stiles said. "Not like I have any condoms on me."

"You should get some," Erica said, thinking back to her health classes and the sex-ed sections. Her parents almost opted her out of that, too. Like it would've stopped her. "You never know when something will happen, and when you're caught up in the moment…"

Stiles shrugged, rolling his eyes as he reached for some socks. "Yeah, sure," he muttered. "I'll just get right on that."

"If you do, get the ribbed condoms," she said, leering again as she remembered something she'd overheard some of the older track girls say, once, a long time ago. "I hear they're the best thing ever."

Stiles stared at her, eyes popping wide open with incredulity as the socks dropped from his grip.

Finally, he shook his head.

"I'm still not saying anything, no matter how hard you try to shock me or…or whatever it is you're trying to do," Stiles said.

His heartbeat confirmed his words.

"So you might as well leave," he finished.

"Really?" she asked, one last long shot. "You're going to just withhold information from us?"

"Given that Derek is more interested in killing than helping? Yes," Stiles answered, clenching some of the socks in a frustrated grip.

Time for a new tactic. Third time’s the charm, right?

"All right, then," she agreed, with the most amicable tone possible without descending into Uncanny Valley.

With a sigh to mask her own frustration, she stood and started for the door.

“What are you doing?!” Stiles hissed.

“Exactly what you want me to do,” Erica said. “Leaving.”

Stiles flailed on the bed, but by the time he even stood up, she was out the door.

She walked with heavy footsteps and made loud noises on her way down the stairs. She turned in the hallway to see a bewildered Sheriff sitting at his kitchen table again and staring at her, cup of coffee frozen halfway to his mouth.

Erica smiled, just as Stiles came barreling down the stairs.

“Hi, Sheriff!” she greeted with obnoxious cheer. “Bye, Sheriff!”

The Sheriff was still staring at her like he wasn’t sure if she was real as she sauntered out the front door.

Then, since the window curtains were closed, she waited on the front step.

_“What the hell was that about?!”_ the Sheriff demanded of his son a moment later.

Stiles sighed in frustration.

_“Just a girl from school,”_ Stiles said. _“Erica Reyes. An annoying one who wanted to know how I’ve been and for some reason couldn’t just use a phone or something.”_

She smiled to herself. Stiles knew full well she was listening in.

_“Why was she here?”_ the Sheriff asked, sounding both mad and exasperated.

_“She wanted to talk.”_

__

_  
_

_“…to talk? Really? A girl like that sneaks into your bedroom to talk?”_

__

_  
_

_“Yes! That’s why she came out the front door, to annoy me-”_

__

_  
_

_“And why does it annoy you?”_

__

_  
_

_“Because you’re asking me all these questions!”_

__

_  
_

_“Stiles, what part of ‘grounded’ do you not understand?”_

__

_  
_

_“Dad-”_

__

_  
_

_“You can’t just have a girl in your room after everything with Jackson!”_

Her eyebrow rose at that. Jackson? What went on with Jackson?

_“I didn’t invite her!”_ Stiles defended himself. _“Check my phone and computer if you want. She just showed up. I said I didn’t want to talk and she got mad so she came out the front door knowing you’d get all ‘inquisitive’ on me. She’s probably going to mock me for this tomorrow.”_

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

The Sheriff groaned in exasperation, and she heard the distinct sound of a coffee mug landing on a table. _“Go back to your room. Now. And don’t think I won’t be checking in on you.”_

The sound of Stiles stomping back up the stairs wasn’t enough to cover the sound of him grumbling, and Erica grinned.

She sauntered over to the sidewalk, stopping to turn back to the Stilinski house one more time. To no one's surprise, the Sheriff was peering out the window at her. With a big grin, she waved at him. She went down the street, taking the block at a brisk clip, then another one since people were coming home and someone else was looking out a window.

As soon as she hit a block with no one outside — or looking outside — she stepped out of her heels, tangled her fingers through the straps, then took off at a lupine run.

It was so invigorating, running now. It wasn't just the increased speed or stamina — though those were one hell of a bonus. But just being able to run free of worry, run free of being terrified of a seizure, run free of her parents' suffocating apathy…

She couldn't wait until she mastered a full shift and could run as a wolf, run for _real_.

In what felt like no time at all, she made it home, snuck across the backyard, and into her bedroom through the window. She pulled off the skirt and jacket, yanked on some sweatpants and her fluffy — bulky — houserobe, and made her way out of her room and downstairs, pausing only to dig a flash drive out of her desk.

Erica didn't actually expect anyone to be awake, right now — hence why she didn't waste time undoing her hair and make-up — but it couldn't hurt to be too careful.

"Mom?" she called out in a low voice as she descended the stairs, just in case. "Dad?"

When she got no response, she kept going, scurrying through the living room and towards the office.

She kept an ear out for her parents as she snuck into Dad’s office. It only took a few tries to get into his computer, and she plugged in the USB as she started searching through his records for everything related to Jackson Whittemore.

She turned up a lot more than she expected.


	2. Isaac Lahey (alt POV of "In a Window Back Home")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expansion and alternate POV of [In a Window Back Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5504363/chapters/28861263), and taking place in the middle of [Chapter 12 of Talking Cure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482827/chapters/33292140).

“I don’t trust them,” Isaac said, even as he followed Derek, Erica, and Boyd out of the rail depot and over to the Camaro. “We don’t _need_ them, either.”

“We really do.”

Isaac listened to Derek’s deep, frustrated breaths he pulled out his car keys. The jangling didn’t sound too aggressive…but he’d only met Derek like a month ago. Being able to hear people’s heartbeats and smell their emotions was amazing, and a huge step up in predicting moods — how many of his dad’s beatings could he have avoided if he’d had these kinds of senses before? — but Isaac was still learning how to use them.

Some days, Derek felt like an open book. Other days, he felt as mysterious and unpredictable as his father had.

Derek pulled open the driver’s door, and gestured them to the other side of the car. “I don’t like it, either, but it’s our best shot.”

As Erica draped herself over Isaac's lap in the back seat, Boyd slid into the passenger seat. Isaac wrapped his arms around his cuddly packmate as Derek filled them in on Scott’s vague phone-call. They were all going to be in the same place at the same time working toward the same goal, so Scott thought they should work _with_ each other instead of against each other.

"Scott and Stiles will care more about keeping everyone else safe than they will about the kanima," Derek concluded, as he took a turn for the Animal Clinic. "They want to keep things quiet, and they will do anything to make sure no else gets hurt in the crossfire."

"Unless it's Harley," Erica muttered under her breath. Even amid the sound of the Camaro's engine, they all heard her.

Derek frowned, glancing at them in the rear-view mirror. "Who-"

"If Harley is there," Isaac declared. "I'll let Stiles kill her, and help him hide the body."

He meant it, too.

"Or hide it for him," Erica drawled. "You still have that job at the graveyard, don't you?"

Isaac snickered. He could think of a few great spots to put her already…

Up front, Boyd doubled-over in ill-suppressed laughter, almost hitting his head against the dashboard.

Derek glared until Erica relented, explaining, "Stiles' uncle is in the military, and a while back went missing in Iraq or something? Anyway, Harley is a super-hippie who said that soldiers in the Middle East deserve what they get. You can imagine how the Blue Star nephew and-" She jerked her thumb at Isaac. "-the Gold Star brother took that. Isaac nearly shifted in class. Stiles _would'v_ e shifted if he were a werewolf, he was that pissed."

Isaac sheepishly nodded, and Derek’s eyebrows in surprise.

Boyd chimed in, "Though I don't think Stiles is technically a blue-star family." Everyone looked at him, and he added, "You're only Blue Star if your family is in the U.S. military. But Stiles told one of the other cadets that his uncle was working for 'an international team', though he wouldn't say what it was-"

"SHIELD," Derek answered.

The three teenagers blinked at him in perfect unison, silent in their askance.

"...a few months ago," Derek explained, taking a sharp turn on a yellow light. "When I was fighting the last alpha. The fight got out of hand, the cops were called, and Stiles and I couldn't get out of there before they showed up. So the cops were crawling around, and within an hour, there were SHIELD agents around, trying to figure out if someone had targeted Stiles to get to his uncle.” He rolled past a stop-sign. “Some reporter once also stalked him up to my house about something.” Derek shrugged, making another turn to take them toward the animal clinic. “His uncle is ‘someone important in national security’."

Erica whistled. "SHIELD? The guys who handled the Chitauri invasion?"

Derek snorted, this time. At everyone's looks, he added, "They stopped it in its tracks, but SHIELD didn't handle it very well, afterward."

Erica and Isaac stared in confusion, but Boyd's face softened. "You were there," he said. "Right? You said you'd been in New York for a few years."

Derek pursed his lips.

"My sister says the Hulk smelled almost as weird as the aliens," Derek answered finally.

Erica tensed in Isaac’s arms.

She must’ve noticed the present tense, too.

All of them did, because none of them said a word for the rest of the drive to the clinic.

Predictably, the plan sucked, but it was the best they had.

Especially once it turned out the Argents were going to be there, too.

“How much do they know?” Derek demanded. Isaac could _hear_ his molars grinding together.

“They know that the kanima is Jackson,” Stiles reported. “And, obviously, that he’ll be there.”

“But they don’t know Allison is still giving us information,” Scott added.

“Hopefully,” Stiles chipped in. When Scott gave him a betrayed look, Stiles shook his head once. What the hell was that about?

Scott’s shoulders slumped, presumably accepting whatever Stiles just implied. “And she’s been honest and right, so far,” he continued. “Isaac wouldn’t be here, otherwise.”

Isaac winced.

He did _not_ like thinking about his first full moon.

Still, once the planning was done and Derek was taking them all home, he admitted to Erica and Boyd, “Allison is the one who told them that a Hunter was coming to kill me at the jail, disguised as a deputy.”

Erica’s disbelief echoed around the inside of the car. “Probably just angry that she didn’t get to kill you, herself.”

Isaac wasn’t so sure of that, but they were getting close to her house, so he didn’t try to start a fight right then, nor with Boyd.

And Derek, thankfully, had been there that night, and was equally uninterested in talking about it.

Isaac had been afraid Derek would try anyway, when they got back to Isaac’s house. But instead, Derek asked, “You ready for the social worker’s visit tomorrow?”

Nodding, Isaac held up the bag he’d dug out of the basement that morning. “Last time, I mentioned how mad I was that my dad would always talk about Camden but never really…did anything, so I was thinking if we put up some of his stuff…?”

Derek nodded in encouragement. “Sure. How does this work?”

Isaac’s brain briefly turned inside out at Derek looking to _him_ for guidance.

How _did_ any of this work? Dad never put up the ribbons and medals, so Isaac never learned.

“Um…nothing fancy, at least for now,” Isaac said, shrugging it off as he pulled out the medals with their ribbons bent from years of being crushed by the folded funeral flag. “Just print up a picture and prop up the flag for now, lay out the medals next to them.”

Derek nodded, taking the flag and setting it on the mantle over the fireplace that hasn’t been used in years — and now, with a pyrophobe in the house, probably never will.

Setting the medals on the coffee table to sort them out, Isaac wondered what picture of Camden he should use. Yeah, the were doing this _now_ because of the social worker, but Isaac still wanted something that would make his brother proud. Isn’t that what little brothers were supposed to do?

He almost opened his mouth to ask Derek — then closed it.

_Derek’s_ big sister only died a few months ago.

Trying to rub out the creases in the ribbon, Isaac swallowed once, twice, three times, then asked, “Do you…do you want to put something up for Laura?”

Derek froze. Isaac couldn’t see his face, and only knew enough about scent to know Derek was _distressed_ and was Derek mad or sad or was he gonna cry or scream or throw something and if he did what if he threw it at Isaac with so much more force than Dad ever did-

“No,” Derek said, continued to fuss over the flag. “But thank you.”

Still feeling his heart pound halfway out of his chest, Isaac inched his way over to Derek’s side.

Derek sidled out of the way, letting Isaac start to lay out the medals, making sure to press the ribbons as flat as possible.

“I’m assuming there’s _some_ kind of professional somewhere we can consult for this,” Derek said, poking at the folds in the fabric of the flag to make it stand upright. “Once all this blows over, we’ll find someone.”

Heartbeat easing up, Isaac smiled and nodded. He didn’t look up from the medals, but out of the corner of his eye, he did see Derek start to relax a bit.

“Thank you,” he tried, and Derek…didn’t exactly smile, but his frown flattened, which was close enough for Derek.

Taking that, Isaac turned his full attention to the tarnished medals and creased ribbons.

It wasn’t much, but it was _something_ , and that was still better than anything his dad ever did.


	3. Vernon Boyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anyone confused as to why they are seeing an alert for a story they do not remember subscribing too, these are outtakes/reposts from Talking Cure of the Winter Wolves series. I did not want to spam subscribers, so I'm only adding it to the series with this last update.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the very end of [Chapter 12 of Talking Cure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482827/chapters/33292140) (or between Chapters 12 and 13, depending on how you want to look at it). Stiles helping Boyd with the wolfsbane bullet wound after the rave.

Boyd groaned awake to the smell of ash in the air, the throbbing of his abdominal muscles, and the sound of a hyperactive teenager sitting at the foot of his bed.

Damn, that magical ketamine hit hard.

"How lon've I been ou’?" Boyd slurred out, patting his shirtless torso. Two little bumps where the normal bullets had hit him, and above them, a small hole where he'd been struck by the wolfsbane bullet.

"About two hours," Stiles murmured, looking between Boyd and the bedroom door. "Uh, the bottom two should be gone in a few hours. The top one may leave a bit of skin discoloration, but otherwise it should also disappear, too. Though Derek knows more than I do about this."

With a slow nod, Boyd pushed himself up. He stretched a few times, in a few different directions. Some twinges when he lifted his arms up, and throbbing when he held them out, but no pain besides those.

Stiles stared at him.

"Like what you see?" Boyd drawled.

Making a face, Stiles picked up the shirt that now had bullet holes in it, and threw it at him.

Boyd pulled the shirt on, frowning when he realized Stiles was still glancing at the door.

"Relax," Boyd said, rolling his eyes. "As long as we keep quiet, no one will bother us."

"I know," Stiles said. He…scowled? " _Believe me_ , I’ve noticed."

Now Boyd was confused. "Isn't no one barging in a good thing?"

Stiles clenched his jaw.

"...You were out for nearly two hours," Stiles said. "Your family sat down for a long, chatty dinner. Then your parents put your little brother and your sister to bed. And not once did anyone so much as knock on your door."

Stiles kept looking between the door and the boy in the bed.

"Is this why you took the Bite?" Stiles asked.

Boyd glared.

"Thank you for helping me," he ground out, hoping Stiles got the hint.

He didn't. Or he _did_ , but ignored it.

It was hard to tell with Stiles.

"Scott said that _you_ said you wanted to be a werewolf like him — rather than Derek."

This was the moment Boyd remembered Stiles' dad was a cop. Derek seemed to think Stiles was going to grow up to be a cop, too. He was never going to let this go. Cops made their living by harassing people, and Stiles was no exception.

Better to give him something else to latch onto — and distract him.

"Why is Scott trying to do anything about the kanima?" Boyd asked.

Stiles looked at him like he was crazy. "Um, hello? Scary monster going around killing people-"

"Yeah," Boyd cut him off. "But not anyone he cared about. And the kanima isn't his fault, either. It's not his problem, it doesn't have to be — but he's trying to do something about about it, anyway. Why?"

Now Stiles looked like he was appraising Boyd for a head injury.

" _That_ is why," Boyd answered. "Most people would say, 'not my problem' and peace out. I know I'm missing a lot about what happened around here before Derek Bit me, but I'm pretty sure that option never even occurred to Scott — or even you."

He got up and went to the window overlooking the bit of yard on the side of his house. Nudging aside the screen propped up against the wall beside it, he re-opened the window.

Pointedly, he looked back to Stiles. "But Derek is still my alpha. He found me and Erica and Isaac, the three kids who needed the Bite the most, needed a _pack_ the most, and gave that to us."

The open window was a big enough hint that Stiles didn't ignore it.

"Fine," Stiles said, getting up. "But don't forget that he didn't give you the Bite because you needed it. He only helped you because _he_ needed a pack."

Boyd felt his claws sink into his palms.

"You know why I want to be like Scott?" he demanded. "Because Derek needs someone like that in his pack...and if Scott won't do it, _I will_."

Stiles blinked in surprise.

"It's supposed to be a win-win situation for us," Boyd said. "Derek helped us, and we help him. I don't care 'why' he cares about us, as long as he does. Maybe he's going after the kanima for a different reason than Scott — but he's still doing it."

With a snort, Stiles shook his head as he stood up. "You already sound like Scott, you know that?"

That threw Boyd for a loop. He narrowed his eyes at Stiles as he perched on the window ledge.

"Derek's good at making people think they'll get what they want," Stiles said, turning his head to face Boyd. "He can do it without even lying, because a guy who grew up around werewolves knows better. He'll probably even try to get you what you want — but only because it keeps you on his side."

"He wants to help us," Boyd said. "And he's trying his best."

"...I know," Stiles muttered. "That's the problem." Boyd frowned in confusion, but Stiles already turned and slipped out his window. Boyd kept a careful eye on him as Stiles crawled down the trellis until he landed on top of the shed, then clambered down off of that. He heard the sound of the grass crunching under Stiles' feet, but he doubted anyone in his family heard anything.

Stiles started to head out towards the street, but then stopped and looked back up at Boyd.

Without raising his voice, Stiles said, "I hope you're right about Derek. But if he disappoints you as much as he disappointed us — we could use another guy like you."

Then he turned and walked away.

Boyd snarled, but didn’t go after Stiles. He just replaced the screen in his window and closed it.

What the hell did Stiles know about Derek, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up in this Watch Your Pack will be the "Prettier and Richer Than You" trilogy, aka Lydia, Jackson, and Danny's POVs.

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Winter Wolves series, but for the sake of not spamming subscribers, I won't add this to the series until after I'm done with it.


End file.
